Shadow
by DruChael
Summary: What's that? James has a twin sister? Oh, the madness...Done for fun. Some pairings. Epic in the works. Rated T 'just in case' for later on...


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter...if I did, I'd be off writing the next book instead of this...anywho...Emilee is my only creation thus far. I like to experiment with OC's and see what I can do with it. As for pairings...grins evilly You'll just have to read on.

**Chapter 1--Mmm...Breakfast**

"Emilee," came the soft voice.

I repressed a smile and kept my eyes closed. I felt his presence right beside of me, poking my cheek gently.

"Emilee, c'mon, wake up!" he whispered.

I knew why he wanted me to wake up. It was September 1st. Our trunks were packed and ready to go downstairs, and guessing by the urgency in his voice and the quiet of the house, it was still early. I sighed sleepily and rolled on my stomach, grinning into my pillow.

He sighed and grunted in irritation, poking my head. "Emilee, c'mon!" he repeated.

I giggled and looked out at the matching brown eyes and messy black hair.

He slowly grinned. "Git," he said quietly, still grinning.

I sighed and sat up slowly, he matching my movements. I stretched and yawned, and then looked over at him. "James, what are you so twittery about? And why on earth are you dressed so early?" I asked, trying to sound confused.

He sighed, his devious smile matching my own. "Oh, don't even Em. I know that you're just as excited as I am."

I nodded and grinned. "Well, get going then so I can change," I said quietly.

He jumped off my bed and ran out of the room, throwing one last amused glance at me before taking off into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. I sat there a moment, my heart pounding, and finally got out of bed to change into something comfortable for the train ride.

It was hard for me to fake an attitude of indifference. This time almost two months ago, James and I had received two parchment letters covered in green and black ink—it was finally time for us to get our school supplies and head to Hogwarts. Mum and Dad had talked about it their entire lives, or, more specifically, OUR entire lives, pressing upon us how crucial it was for us to do our best in school.

I looked at myself in the mirror and tried to calm myself. I looked decent. Wasting no more time on my thoughts, I practically burst out of my room and ran down three flights of stairs to meet my brother in the kitchen.

He was wolfing down an entire plate of food made by our chef, who was all ready up because of his 'young master's request'. More like James had pounced on his bed and asked for breakfast. Because my brother was one of those people who appreciated the work that those who worked in the house did. I smiled and greeted Eric as I sat down at the table, James too busy over his breakfast to even look at me.

"And what would you like for breakfast, Miss Emilee?" he asked.

I smiled.

"Of course, how silly of me to ask," he said. He knew that I loved pancakes and strawberries on special occasions, seeing as how they filled me up but didn't make me sick when I was as nervous as I was this morning. He smiled at me and began to mix his special batter.

Eric was a kind, middle-aged man who had been the bachelor all his life, cooking being more important to him than love. He was a tall, thin man with short blond hair, and he was certainly a very attractive and charming man. But when he failed to make himself a great chef in the Muggle world and his looks and fame were beginning to fade, my parents took him on and gave him a job. It wasn't as if they didn't have the money for it. He'd been part of our lives for as long as we could remember, and was much more than just our Muggle Chef. I daresay I thought of Eric as a second father, and James as well.

I turned to my brother and grinned as he barely took a breath before taking a large gulp of milk, choking and almost spitting it everywhere. Some of it began to dribble down his chin. He began to reach up to wipe it away with his sleeve, but he forgot that Eric had eyes in the back of his head.

"James Potter, don't you dare," he said calmly. "They sew napkins for a reason."

James grinned but complied with his demand. He picked up the napkin and wiped his face, turning to me with a wide grin over his recently placed glasses. "I don't know what I'm going to do when I get to Hogwarts, Eric. There won't be anyone to nag me about using napkins or the right silverware."

"Very funny, James," he replied lamely, but James kept grinning at his back, and then returned to his food.

"I thought so as well," he replied quietly to me with a grin.

I pointed my fork at him. "And anyways, I'll be there to make sure you use your sleeve and your fingers."

Eric turned and mock glared at me. He was dying to smile, and he knew it. I merely beamed at him as though I was just trying to be helpful. "Honestly, I don't know what I'm going to do without you two here to keep me on my toes."

"Now, now Eric," came a voice. The two of us turned and beamed as our father and mother appeared, fully dressed and beaming. Mum and Dad both had black hair. Mum's eyes were a sort of blue, and Dad's were a kind of gray, which was why it was amazing that the two of us had brown eyes. But then again, we were a family of misfits. Mum looked a bit younger than Dad, as he was about seven years older than her. But right now, it wasn't an issue. "Please restrain the heartfelt goodbyes until you take them to the station."

My smile fell. "You're not taking us?" I asked quietly.

My father smiled and kissed my forehead. "I wish I could, Emilovely. But unfortunately, the Ministry has me in a locking charm right now—I have so much work to do."

I looked at my mother.

"I'm sorry," she said after hugging my brother and sitting beside of him. "The Ministry has me in a bind as well, I'm afraid."

I tried not to seem disappointed, but as I looked up at Eric, I noticed that perhaps I wasn't as good masking it as I thought. I wasn't disappointed that Eric was taking us, as I was very fond of him. Whenever Mum and Dad couldn't be there, he always had been. He smiled sadly at me, winked, and put pancakes onto my plate. He turned and began to hum, lightening the tension in the room.

I wasn't angry, but I could tell my brother was. He was now looking down at the eggs on his plate, literally stabbing at them with his fork, that 'thoughtful' expression on his face. I giggled and he looked up. I winked and he grinned.

The great thing about being twins is that you're never alone.


End file.
